


Match

by Luzula



Category: due South
Genre: Episode Tag, Gen, ds_snippets
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-06-05
Updated: 2008-06-05
Packaged: 2017-10-02 14:53:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 291
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7602
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Luzula/pseuds/Luzula
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An episode tag for "The Edge".</p>
            </blockquote>





	Match

**Author's Note:**

> Partly inspired by truepenny's interesting [analysis](http://truepenny.livejournal.com/572412.html) of the episode. Thanks to Akamine_chan for beta reading.   
> Prompt: twigs

I wake a fraction of a second too late.

There is a knife at my throat; I can feel my pulse beating against the edge of it. He straddles my chest heavily, looming above me, and his clothes are black on black in the night.

"You saved my life."

"I did." I try to speak without moving my throat. There are twigs and cool moss under my fingers. A forest floor. Why am I sleeping outdoors?

"Do you think I prefer life spent in a cage over death?"

"I wouldn't know. At least it leaves you with the option to choose."

"Oh, yes. Prison leaves me with so many options." I can't make out his expression, but his voice sounds sarcastic.

"At least you aren't the one with a knife to your throat," I observe. "Are you going to kill me?"

"Where are your logic skills, Mountie? This is a dream." He bares his white teeth in what is not quite a grin.

I say nothing. _Is this a dream, or am I going to die?_

"You said 'no' to me the last time, but we are brothers, you and I. Don't you feel it?" His hand tightens on my shoulder, almost painful. "I want you to think carefully. Think about your cage, and what it's worth."

I open my eyes. My room is the same--the faint scent of traffic exhaust, my meager furniture, my uniform on a hanger by the door. My hand touches cool metal, and I recoil.

There is a knife by my pillow. The handle is horn, exquisitely carved, and the blade balanced and sharp.

I scan the room again. There is no one there, of course, but the knife is still in my hand, solid.


End file.
